


Kintsugi

by StilesStylelinski (kieren_Freaking_Walker)



Category: Raven Cycle - Maggie Stiefvater
Genre: AU of some kind I guess, Angst, Bickering, M/M, Multi, Older Characters, Personal Growth, Resentment, Strangers to Lovers, They meet Adam later in life
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-01-27
Updated: 2019-02-01
Packaged: 2019-10-17 12:00:27
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,764
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17560001
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kieren_Freaking_Walker/pseuds/StilesStylelinski
Summary: Adam Parrish's soul focus in life is to keep busy, and use his hands to fix things. For a long time he hasn't made time for anything else besides that.Until, well, two boys slowly force themselves into his life.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> A little AU thingo I'm working on. This is a really rough draft of a first chapter, but please let me know if you like it.
> 
> Kintsugi is the art of fixing broken pottery and such with lacquer mixed with powdered gold, silver, or platinum.  
> It can be very beautiful.  
> Inspired by this art piece; https://eightofchalace.tumblr.com/post/182390953109/thedaintydiarist-sully-s-kintsugi-philosophy

Adam Parrish liked to use his hands. He liked to create and repair with them—fix what was fixable, because some things were not. In a way, it helped. In fixing things he could, it helped him deny the fact that there were things in his life he couldn't fix—like his ear. Like his family.

His past He'd been creating himself too. Working hard to create an Adam that wasn't his past. An Adam that would make it to the future.

Right now his repair fixation was on the Bronco—a car someone had sold to him for dirt cheap because they saw absolutely no hope for it. Adam saw it as a challenge. Adam was convinced he could fix it. All he needed was the time. So he made the time. Every free moment between his two jobs and sleep, was spent slowly taking this thing apart, to learn how it worked—how it was supposed to. Then, he'd start piecing it back together, replacing it with new—or well, some used—parts.  
The 1966 Ford Bronco stayed in the yard—He worked in a Mechanic shop that doubled as a scrap yard—and he was thankful that Dean, his boss, was happy for him to leave it here. It wasn't like he had anywhere else he could keep it. It had been a pretty easy conversation to have—Dean had overhead the old man making the deal with Adam, and had decided before Adam had even asked, that it could live here until it was more than just an immovable object.  
  
Adam was currently laying back across the bench-seat of the Bronco, fingers trailing across the bottom of the leather steering wheel, as his other hand held the two-day old sandwich he was trying to force down.  
Adam Parrish forgot to eat, a lot.  
  
He could hear the radio from the shop in the distance—always a welcome thing. Background noise when he worked—which sometimes drowned out his thoughts.  
  
“Parrish? You still here?” Adam almost chokes on his mouthful of bologna sandwich as he jerks upright—almost hitting his head on the steering wheel as he did so. Maybe this was why most people said it was a bad idea to eat laying down.  
He makes the effort to choke down his mouthful as he looks around—to find Dean coming over in his dark blue jumpsuit emblazoned with his name on the chest pocket, leaning an arm along the window sill of the Broncos door. Dean was in his thirties—Adam thought, anyway. He wasn't the kind of guy to ask. His dark brown hair was slicked back out of the way of his work, and his face always had at least one smudge of black somewhere  
“Kid, beat it—you've stayed too long. You're going to be late.” Dean says it in a way that leaves the again unspoken, but still very present in the air.  
  
Officially, Adam had finished working for the shop two or so hours ago—but, given the free time, had decided to work on the Bronco some.  
Adam glances down at his watch, wiping a big smudge of grease from the glass surface. Shit. Dean was right. He had 15 minutes until he was supposed to be at his other job—and that was across town.  
  
He shoves what was left of his sandwich back in the brown paper bag that had spent days in his locker, abandons it on the bench seat,and climbs out of the Bronco ungracefully through it's window, pushing Dean away as he does so.  
  
“You gotta slow down one day, kid. You're going to run out of fumes.” Dean sighs, as he backs up with a worried shake of his head.  
  
Adam chuckles as he began to unbutton his own jumpsuit, struggling out of the sleeves first “I've got all the _fumes_ I need right here, Dean.”  
  
Dean did not look impressed with the terrible joke, as he turns on his heels, and heads back towards the shop.  
  
Adam manages an ungraceful but helpful hop towards the shop as he pulls off one of his ratty sneakers, so he wouldn't have to struggle so much with the removal of the jumpsuit. He stops short of his locker, tugs off his other sneaker, and then peels the jumpsuit from his clothes—balling it up messily and throwing it into the top shelf of his locker( He made a mental note to remember that tomorrow was laundry day), before tugging his skateboard and backpack from the lower compartment.  
He throws the latter over his shoulders, before ducking to tug his sneakers back on.  
Then he's running out of the shop—pausing only for a moment to give Dean a salute goodbye.  
  
A soon as he reaches the sidewalk, he dropped his board and jumped on, foot slamming down against the cement as he gradually builds up some speed.  
He leans to steer around a mother pushing her stroller down the street, and for a moment transitions to the empty road, before finding a driveway he could easily use to get back up onto the paved sidewalk.  
  
The streetlights around him were slowly coming to life, as the sun was soon due to set behind him somewhere. The cool air bites at his bare arms, and he realises that although it was his favourite shirt, maybe the Coca-Cola shirt was not the best of choices today.  
  
  
  
He's running out of time and he knows it—but he was in the shopping district at least. Minutes to spare, maybe? He can see the supermarket in the distance—and his eyes lock on it as his foot pounds against the pavement to pick up more speed.  
He's so focused on the store that he doesn't notice the BMW door up ahead opening up onto the sidewalk until he's collided with it.  
  
He board disappears out from under his feet as the air is knocked from his lungs—and his face collides with the glass window last, before he finally hits the pavement.  
He reaches up to pinch his nose—because he can already feel the blood coming on.  
The streetlight up above him is almost blinding as he takes a moment to calmly process the damages.  
  
“Shit—I've got to go. NO—Declan, seriously. I almost killed some kid with my car door.”  
Adam can't process much through the ringing in his good ear, but he thinks he just heard someone speak.  
  
Adam groans as he tries to sit up, but a sudden pressure forces him back down—as a shadowy figure blocks out some of the light above him. “I heard my car door crack with the force you hit it, okay? Just stay down for a damn second.” A gruff voice orders.  
The hand on Adams chest eases up a little, and Adam blinks a few times, trying to bring the figure into focus—he knows there's only one, but there are two currently dancing across his vision.  
  
“Can't. I'm late...” Adam croaks, as he tries to sit up again, using the elbow of his free arm to boost himself up. This time, the hand lets him—disappearing for a moment until it's by his shoulders, as if bracing for the inevitable collapse.  
The effort of sitting up has the air leaving his lungs far too quickly—but he manages to stay upright, blinking towards the supermarket.  
  
“Late for what? Surely whatever it is can wait until you know you're in one piece” The man in front of him says firmly—and Adam still can't really make out any features, due to the light coming down from above them—his face is almost entirely shadow.  
  
“Work—and it _can't_ wait.” Adam says, matching the bossy tone with disdain.  
He tries again to get his feet underneath himself to get up—however, they don't seem to want to comply.  
  
_“Adam? Adam are you alright? Nathan saw you fall!”_   Shit. He'd know that shrill voice anywhere. It was Harriet—his boss. She was a lovely old lady—but nosy and opinionated.  
Having seen this, his chances of being allowed to work were slim.  
  
Adam peers around the shadowed man to see her hurrying over, a bag of frozen peas in hand, as well as a tea towel.  
She crouches down despite some protest from her own knees, and hands him the make-shift icepack, before fixing up her fly-away grey hairs.  
  
Adam unplugs his nose, only to quickly press the icepack to it, grunting at the sudden spike of pain the action causes.  
  
She eyes the shadowed man for a moment, and moves back a little bit, as if her judgement decided he wasn't so approachable  
“Adam—I think you should go home and r—“  
  
“--No! I'm fine. I can work, Harriet. It's not that bad.” Adam insists quickly, as he forces himself up a little more as if to prove it. He knocks the hand still resting behind his back away, and for a moment thinks he hears a sceptical noise from the shadowed man's throat.  
  
Determined to prove them both wrong, he stands up, and although there's some protest from his joints, and an ache in his hips—he's standing.  
  
Harriet looks at him seriously, delicate brow furrowed in worry “I...okay. I'll shift the crew around so you can sit at the register, okay?”  
  
Adam hated the register. If he wasn't stocking the shelves and breaking down boxes—then he wasn't doing enough “No—really, I'm fine. I can--”  
  
Harriet held up a hand to shut him up—and Adam flinched out of habit “It's the register, or you go home.” The finality in her tone has Adam nodding unhappily.  
  
He adjusts his grip on the icepack, and begins trudging towards the store, leaving the stranger who's car he collided with without a word.  
  
Inside, he's taken to the bathroom by one of the other boys on shift—Richard, he thought his name was? Though Adam never really took much interest in the people around him. Work was work—The 'friends' you made there weren't exactly real.  
  
He sits him down on the toilet lid, and opens up the rusty old first-aid kit they kept in the store in case of emergencies. “You've busted up the bridge of your nose a little.” The boy shares, as he fumbles through the contents of the first-aid kit.  
  
“Yippee.” Adam sighs, as he pulls the icepack away from his face for a moment. The blood nose had stopped at least, soaked into the tea towel.  
  
Richard, or whatever-his-name-was, sets the first-aid kit down on the bathroom sink as he finds what he's looking for. An obnoxious blue band-aid—the type that were made to stand out in places like supermarkets, so that if a band-aid slipped off someone’s finger, it would be noticed. He peels the plastic away from the adhesive, and then lines it up with the bridge of his nose, placing it carefully.  
  
Adam sucks in a breath at the tenderness of the skin there, and grits his teeth.  
  
“Sorry about that. It's going to be pretty tender for a few days at least—and you might wake up to some bruising.” The boy tells him, before he's reaching back into the first-aid kid for an alcohol wipe. He takes a moment to run that over Adam's skin—in quite a few places Adam hadn't expected blood to be. “That's about as good as we're going to get, I'm afraid.”  
  
Adam nods, and lets out a sigh, before mumbling something along the lines of a thank-you.  
  
Richard accepts it none the less, and begins to pack up the first-aid kit, before slipping out of the bathroom.

Adam takes a moment to collect himself, before he's leaving the bathroom too, without a glance in the mirror because he can already guess how ridiculous he looks.  
He clocks on, and heads straight over to the register, where a stool has been placed for him—usually you weren't allowed to sit down on the job, but it seemed like Harriet had made an exception to the rule.

The bell above the entrance to the supermarket goes off, and Adam looks up from counting his till in time to see the back of a man in a leather jacket disappear into one of the aisles—hair a close buzz-cut on his head.  
  
Adam looks back down at his till and continues counting the coins in the drawer, hands still black in places from the mechanic's.  
  
A few minutes later and there's a thud in front of him as someone sets down a case of energy drinks on the counter, and he looks up to find the leather-clad man again.  
  
Adam slides the drawer closed, and reaches for the case without a word, because the scowl on the man's face made him think that maybe he didn't want to fake a pleasant conversation with someone doing their job.  
There's a beep as the case scans, and Adam looks up again to reveal the total—but stops himself.  
The man looks to be having an internal struggle of some sort, wallet gripped tight in his hands. When he notices Adam looking, he reaches in, pulls out a fifty, and almost throws it towards Adam.  
  
Adam takes the note when it falls between them, and begins putting the total in through the system so the cash drawer will open.  
He feels quite small under the man's scowl.  
  
“Sorry about your face.”  
  
Adam looks up with a frown, confused by the strangers words for a few moments before it clicks. This must have been the shadowed man from before—the one who had been on his phone when Adam had run into his car door.  
“Oh...it's fine.” Adam says finally, voice monotone, as he begins rummaging through the drawer for change.  
  
“Keep—keep the change.” The man grumbles, as he begins to grab his case of energy drinks, a scowl fixed to his brow.  
  
Adam shakes his head firmly then, and notices that the man is also holding a splinter of wood in his hands—familiar. Part of his skateboard. It must have drifted into traffic. “I don't want your money.” He says easily, as he places the change on the top of the case the man was already holding, coins on top of notes to weigh them down. “I wasn't focused on the path, like I should have been. I'll get myself a new board when I've earned it myself.”  
  
The man in leather didn't seem to like that answer, scowl growing deeper, but then they were both pulled out of their conversation when Richard came over, out of uniform.  
“Ronan? Need I remind you, you _hate_ energy drinks?”  
  
The scowl on the man's face seemed to soften as his head turned towards Richard, though it was still very present.  
Adam wonders if it ever actually went away entirely.  
  
The man in leather—Ronan, apparently, seems to falter for a moment, before nodding to Richard “I do. They're...for you?”  
  
Richard laughs at that, a warm noise that seems to ease some the tension by the counter “You know I detest them. What is this really about?”

Adam noted the slight jerk of Ronan's jaw—in his own direction, and then realisation seemed to grow on Richard's face.  
“Ah...ever so bad with apologies.”  
  
Ronan didn't seem to appreciate being called out like that, for the scowl on his face deepens again, and he turns to stomp off out of the store—pointless purchase still in his arms.  
  
“Sorry about him—he's not so good at...well, just saying what he means.” Richard says after a long moment, and Adam realises he's addressing him now.  
  
Adam blinks a few times, before shrugging “Not his fault. I wasn't focusing.”  
  
Richard pauses, as if thinking over that statement for a few moments, and then he smiles “Ah, well, really...I guess I could also be to blame, in a way. He was here to pick me up from work.” He then smiles, and excuses himself from the store, leaving Adam sitting there with his own frown of confusion.  
  
Blame? Did Ronan come in and apologise—badly at that—because he blamed himself for the incident?  
  
“Hey—Richard, you forgot your jacket again!” Another boy from the store, Nathan shouts out of the door to the store, waving said Jacket around in the hopes of getting the brunette's attention. Richard doesn't turn around—he seems to be helping Ronan with something outside by the road—carrying something for him.  
  
Adam watches curiously—unable to see much from his place down on the stool.  
  
“Richard?”  
  
Richard looks over then, a sparkle of realisation in his eye, and he hands over whatever it was he was holding back to Ronan, who looks less than impressed.  
“Ah, I do suppose that is me. Yes.” Adam can barely hear the voice from where he's sitting “Sorry—I seem to tune the name out sometimes.” He says, as he takes the coat from the boy.  
  
The boy shakes his head and turns back inside the shop, mumbling the word “Weirdo” as he walks back to the shelves he was restocking.  
  
Adam wonders to himself how someone could forget their own name, and is pulled out of his thoughts as a new customer comes up to pay for their basket of goods.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With some convincing, Adam decides to take an afternoon off.

"What are you doing tomorrow afternoon? I noticed you weren't on the roster."

 Adam looks up from his shelf with a frown, and can see Richard in the other aisle, through a gap right by their faces. Yeah, for some reason, he's talking to him of all people.

"You mean the roster only management are supposed to see? _That_ roster?" Adam muses, one eyebrow raised as he looks back down at the box in his hands. He acts as if he's reading said packaging because it was easier than making eye-contact with the odd boy.

"Why yes, that roster. I do love to live on the edge." Richard responds, leaning his head a little into the gap between shelving so that Adam can see him in his periphery.

Adam allows a glance back up then, eyelashes fluttering briefly as he does. He's silent for a moment, contemplating possible reasons for the question. Was Richard trying to pawn off a shift he needed covered? It was the most likely reason, wasn't it?

"What's the shift? I have a second job so...I can only take yours if it lines up."

Richard's smile falters, and he blinks a few times in surprise, before understanding sets it "Oh! No. That wasn't my intention at all." He insists, shaking his head gently as he pauses to chew on his bottom lip. "I actually wanted to ask if you wanted to join my friends and I for a dinner."

"Pizza. Unless of course you don't  _like_ Pizza, then we can go and get something else."  
The words gush out of Richards mouth, as if awaiting a rejection—but trying to reason before it could be given.

Adam had been about to do just that as well, when Richard adds the last bit. His mouth shuts gently. Dinner with friends? He wasn't sure how to feel about that. The premise was...well, sort of unfamiliar.

"Dinner? I...are you sure I wouldn't be intruding on your friends, Richard? I mean—What if they're not okay with you bringing along a stray?"  
It even surprises himself, that he's not just outright saying 'no'.

 

 He's been standing there for too long doing nothing, so he begins stacking on the shelf again, keeping his good ear tilted towards Richard.

 There's a laugh, and he looks back up to see Richard smiling again, having pulled his head out of the shelf while Adam hadn't been looking "You, a  _stray_? Is **that** what you are?" Richard seems amused by the idea, if not a little sad in the eyes. Adam wonders how someone could possibly look so happy and sad at the same time. "Well, worry not—my friends are aware of a potential plus one. Also...you can call me Gansey. It's a preferred name of mine. I tune out  _Richard_ half the time."

Adam nods, making an effort to commit that to memory. _Gansey_. "Your last name." Adam realises, and it's not a question.

Gansey nods anyway, as if it was "I happen to be the third  _Richard Campbell Gansey_ , which feels a little unoriginal to me. I wanted something a little more... _me_."  
"So, dinner—was that a 'yes'?" He double-checks, licking his bottom lip thoughtfully.

Adam sets one of the boxes of cookies down on the shelf, and finds a little smile tugging at his lips before he has a chance to nod "Sure. I could do with some socialising." He hums, as if its a joke. He's only  _half_ joking.

That seems to be the right answer, because Gansey claps— _actually_ claps— to show how pleased he is. "Lovely. I can come collect you from your home...or..." He trails off, not sure how to proceed when Adam's own smile falters—Something Gansey seems to notice.

"Uh--Here. Here is fine. I'll meet you here." Adam appeals, hoping that would be acceptable.

Gansey manages an easier smile then, and nods firmly "Is seven okay?"

Adam nods, before excusing himself from the aisle to collect some more stock.

 

They don't talk again that afternoon, because Adam makes an effort to keep to himself when there are no customers around, and Gansey finishes before him anyway.

The walk home is more boring than usual—mainly because he's not zooming along on his skateboard—which usually keeps him occupied. Without it, he's more occupied with his thoughts.  
He stops along the way a few times, picking up peoples trash bins that had fallen over in the afternoon breeze after being emptied. They're a welcome distraction from his head—which he never liked to spend too much time in.

When he arrives home, Mr Jefferson is sitting on the porch in his rocking chair, leaning back with his arms crossed "Where's your wheelie board, kid?"

Adam half shrugs, as he shifts his bag around off his shoulders to pull out his keys "Got run over by a car."  
Of course, Adam had already told him this last night. Mr Jefferson's memory wasn't what it used to be—and that was why Adam helped him out so much, even before being offered his basement as somewhere to stay.  
Mr Jefferson had caught on to why Adam always stayed out late helping him—grabbing him groceries, or cleaning up his house. He'd even once gone through the garden, ripping up all the weeds.

"Just the board, I hope?" One of Mr Jefferson's eyebrows are raised in concern, and he's leaned forward in his rocking chair—pausing it's movement to show Adam he was paying attention.

Adam always appreciated these little things—The body language.   
"Yeah, just the board. The rest of me hit the sidewalk." He shares softly, pausing by the steps down to the basement. He sets his backpack down "Do you need anything tonight, Mr Jefferson? Did you find the canned peaches I got?

Mr Jefferson grins, and Adam imagines it would have been a toothy grin in his youth "I did. Thanks lad. Go get some rest. I can handle myself tonight."

Adam nods, and picks his backpack back up off the stairs, before heading down them. His keys slip into the lock and he twists, pushing his way into the cool and dark cement space.

Adam is grateful for the space—it's his own. It's  _safe_ , besides the occasional eight-legged visitor.  
Sure, it wasn't  _warm_ , and the lighting wasn't great, but he'd bought some extension-cords and some multi-socket power boards, which ran from upstairs, and down into his space.  
He didn't have much to plug into them yet—Still couldn't quite justify treating himself to anything over than necessities—but as he sets his backpack down, he turns on the little heater sitting on the floor facing the cot he considered his bed. He has two nice little pillows to make it a little more comfortable, and a king-sized duvet he curled up in every night.

Once the heater is on, he carefully makes his way towards the crate which acted as his bedside table—he can't see in this darker corner of the room, but he feels around until his fingers find the lamp.  
He flicks the switch, and then kicks off his shoes, tucking them safely under the cot with the new illumination.

 

* * *

 

"Parrish, can you pass me the eight?"  
Dean is underneath a customers car, laying back on a trolley. He wheels some of the way out when he hears Adam pick up the correct tool from the nearby tool-tray. A hand appears, and Adam sets it down firmly in his palm.

"So, a dinner, huh? You think you finally found some friends your age?" Dean calls from beneath the orange Camero.

Adam shrugs, crossing his arms as he leans back against one of the pillars holding up the roof of the shop "I mean—You're not  _that_ old. Only a few grey hairs." He muses, watching Dean's legs.

There's a choked laugh from beneath the car, that turns into a cough at the end " _Cute_ , kid. But I mean it—It'll be good for you connect to people your own age."

Adam doesn't like the way he says it, but it was true—the school Adam had grown up in had been humdrum and unglamorous, full of idiots and bullies and not much else. Adam had kept to himself there because it was better than pretending to be like one of them. He sought further education in places like libraries, meanwhile dreaming of  _more_.  
The  _more_ had never come his way.

"Yeah, maybe." Adam mumbles finally, shaking his head clear of the memories. "Maybe it'll go well. Maybe it wont."

Dean makes an unhappy noise from underneath the car—Always one to make it known when he didn't like the way you thought about things. Dean was an optimist, and tried to guide others towards the outlook with his own positivity—at least on his  _good days_. On his days without coffee he may as well have been just like Adam—hopeless out of habit.

"Kid, it'll be fine. Worry less—jesus."

Adam looks down at his watch, and begins to head towards his locker. He'd spent from noon to five pm working on the Bronco, and spent the last hour and a half making an effort to keep Dean company. He begins unbuttoning his jumpsuit, slipping his arms and torso out of the material—tying the arms around his waist for a moment as he fishes in the locker for his things.  
He hadn't brought his backpack today because he only worked the one job, but he'd dumped the contents of his pockets and his jacket inside the locker.

He recovers his jacket, his wallet, and his crappy little flip-phone, shoving the two latter things in his jacket pockets, before he's resuming with removing the jumpsuit.

"What if they think I'm boring, though?" Adam calls out as he ties one of his shoes.

Dean slides out from underneath the Camaro now, and sits up carefully on the wheeled trolley "Boring? You  _worrying_ , is boring. Kid—stop  _stalling_ , and start moving."

Adam bites his lip thoughtfully, and nods, shutting his locker carefully with his hand. "Alright. Later old man—" He hums, giving Dean his usual salute, as he heads towards the front on the shop and out onto the road.  
His face is smudged with touches of black around his left cheekbone and his chin, but he doesn't know nor care.

 

It's as he's heading out to the road that he sees a familiar face.

"Adam? What are you doing here? Is this your other job?" Gansey asks, in what looks to be an expensive polo-shirt—one of those stupid ones with the horse emblazoned on the chest. Adam had only ever seen him in his uniform before. Did this kid really waste his paycheck on expensive shirts while Adam worked his ass off?

"Uh, yeah. Yeah it is." Adam mumbles, giving a half shrug as he looks down at his feet.

Gansey hums thoughtfully, before he begins moving again, heading towards the shop "Well, what a small world. I'm here to pick up my car, actually. Your boss said it would be done around about now."

Adam looks up again then, swallowing thickly before pushing his lips into the vague shape of words. "What? You—that's  _your_ car?"

Gansey pauses then, and turns back to Adam with a frown, before nodding—that ghost of his usual smile lingering on his lips "The orange Camero? It is. Would you agree the colour is offensive to the eyes? I think that's why I love it so much."

Adam didn't know what to say to that, so he merely gestures for Gansey to continue inside, following him at a fair distance.  
Gansey, a boy who worked at the little store with him, could afford things like this? Something didn't make sense here, and it was bothering Adam—not that he would admit it out-loud. No, he would keep it to himself. He was pretty good at that, right? He hopes so.

Adam hangs back by the exit while Dean and Gansey talk over by the car, and he can't help but notice the way Gansey holds himself. The straight set of his shoulders; Confident, Adam thinks.  
But maybe there was more to it?  
Dean laughs loudly, and shakes Gansey's hand, before returning him his keys.

Gansey must have paid when he brought the car in—something that was always an option, but a lot of people refused to pay until they could inspect Dean's work first.

 

"Adam, are you coming?" Gansey calls, pulling Adam from his thoughts with a jerk.

Adam pushes his feet to move, and heads over to the obscenely orange Camero, watching as Gansey opens up the passenger door for him. He climbs in, for some reason resenting the gesture a little, and buckles up his seat-belt while Gansey rounds the front of the car before joining him inside.

"This is...well, it's a  _really_ nice car..." Adam offers, the tone of his voice a little off.

Gansey pauses in securing his seat-belt, and regards Adam with gentle eyes for a moment, before clearing his throat "You're wondering how I can afford it, aren't you? Adam—have I upset you somehow?"

Adam glowers down at his hands folded into his lap, trying to figure out if that was the case. "I just...you—you have all this stuff, and you...you work at a damn  _convenience store_."

Gansey seems to consider that for a long moment, before nodding his head—something Adam catches in his peripheral.  
He sighs heavily "I work at the store for something to do, Adam. To keep busy—to feel like I'm doing something  _worth-while_."  
Gansey continues after a few moments, voice steady "My whole life, I've never been left wanting. My father is a member of congress up in D.C, and always made sure my sister and I had everything we could ever want..."

"Sounds  _awful_." Adam grumbles, crossing his arms over his chest "Must have been  _so_ hard for you _._ "

"Adam...I'm not my father,  _or_ his money. I'm trying to be independent here. I really don't care for the politics or the money. It's exhausting. Please don't judge me just yet... _please_."

The note in Gansey's voice when he says please has Adam looking up, and after his eyes search the other boys face, he decides that maybe he was a little too fast to judge.  
He nods, and whispers two simple words.  
"I'm sorry."

 

* * *

 

The two arrive at Nino's not 15 minutes later, and they find a booth inside to wait for Gansey's other friends.  
"Are you local, Adam?"

Adam chuckles, and gives Gansey—sitting on the other side of the table—a doubtful look "My accent isn't enough of a tell? You're just trying to make conversation."

Gansey shrugs, smiling "Well, have to start somewhere, right? I mean, we work together, but you like to keep to yourself, I've noticed."

Well, Gansey wasn't wrong there. It was odd, speaking to someone whose eyes seemed to pick up almost everything "It's better that way. I like to keep busy at work." He admits, as his eyes begin to search through the drinks menu on the table "You can't exactly judge, Mr-I'm-Only-Here-To-Feel-Productive."

Gansey's mouth falls open slightly, before he begins to laugh, a hand resting over his chest. "Okay. Alright, that's fair. Sorry—I'm just curious. I want to be friends, Adam. That usually requires getting to know each other."

Adam smiles then, and leans back in his chair a little "Well, unfortunately you need quite a bit more XP before you get to unlock my backstory."

Gansey's eye narrow slightly, intrigued "Ah, but are there hints through-out my quest?"

 

"God you guys are  _already_  nerding out? Gross."

Adam looks up then to see Ronan sliding into the seat besides Gansey—accompanied by a blond boy who sits down on the other side.  
Adam reaches up subconsciously to touch the bridge of his nose. The band-aid had been long since abandoned, but the slight yellow and blue bruising left under his eyes was the reminder of that night.

Ronan's lip curls up on one side—a smirk, maybe? Adam couldn't tell mixed with the set of his brow "Relax. I didn't bring a car door inside the restaurant with me." He snarks, tugging at some leather cords tied around his wrist.

Adam manages a laugh "Sorry—I wasn't worried. Just remembering your awkward attempt at an apology." He snarks back quietly, his tone unsure but steady enough.

It was a smirk. He knows that now, because it grows, slightly impressed with Adam's response.

Gansey clears his throat for everyone's attention, and gestures to the girl standing by their table, holding a notebook in hand—ready to take their order "Let's keep it nice and easy. A large cheese pizza to share? And some pop?"

Adam nods, okay with that, and adds "Cola for me, please."  
  
The girl nods, and writes that down happily enough. "Who's the plus one today, Gansey?" She asks.

"This is Adam, Blue. Our new friend."

 

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Let me know what you think! Hearing back about your own writing through feedback is my favourite way to grow.


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